Rebirth
Summary: Lily Potter's death is not the end. It is only a rebirth.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
"Not Harry...not Harry. Please not Harry," comes the anguished pleas of one Lily Potter as she stands before the Dark Lord Voldemort in the nursery of her and her husband's home in Godric's Hollow.
The Dark Lord, though, has little time for her. He was here on a task. To kill the boy. He would spare her if she moved aside, a promise to a loyal follower. "Stand aside you silly girl. Stand aside now!" he gives the only warning he will give.
"Not Harry," Lily repeats, more boldly than before. "Take me instead. Just please, not Harry."
Voldemort steps toward her, studying her fierce expression, her look of defiance with her chin held just that little bit higher.
"Please, not Harry. Have mercy...have mercy."
Voldemort's patience snaps. "Avada Kedavra!" he snaps off in an instant, the green flash emanating from the end of his wand, striking the young woman, who falls to the floor with a thud, her lifeless eyes staring off into that infinite distant.
Voldemort moves past her, now cooling corpse, towards the crib where his true quarry lay. This boy will not be the end of him. The boy who was wailing, tears rolling down from those very same green eyes as his mother. Almost unearthly eyes as if from another realm.
Voldemort raises his wand and prepares to finish the task…
All the while Lily's eyes continue to stare into a distant place. A place far away from here. A Golden Kingdom.
Her spirit connects to its ancient home and memories flood back.
She was not Lily Potter.
That had been her punishment for defying her King.
She recalled standing before him, his one eye looking down at her with fury and...disappointment. She was suppose to restrain the King's arrogant son, only it turned out she was as arrogant and foolish, in her own way, as him. Following him in an attack on the Frost Giants of Jotunheim and almost starting a new war.
So like Thor she would be punished in the same way. Her spirit cast into a mortal form until she repented for her sins and learned humility.
Her spirit takes on its former appearance. Tall, athletic, the body of a warrior, dark hair, the same green eyes as Lily Potter but she was not Lily Potter. She was the Asgardian Goddess of War; Sif.
And her mortal existence had just ended she realises.
Sif must confess as she waits in this limbo she currently resides she has learned a whole new appreciation of what it means to be mortal...to be a parent.
She gasps. "Harry," she utters the word in a whisper of panic. Her...son. Yes, she still feels the powerful connection of a parent.
Her son whom she sacrificed her very life for, who if he didn't die would grow up an orphan...but he was only one of many in this wizarding war she had found herself cast in. How many others would there be…
Oh.
Now she understands. Understands why Odin was so angry. Being immortal they so easily forget the fragility of existence. No child should have to grow up like that, not even Asgardian ones. That's not to say that sometimes War is unavoidable but she, of all people, should know it is to be avoided if it can be. She should know better its horrors.
She has not been a very good Goddess of War now she thinks on it.
Being Lily Potter, seeing a war from a mortal perspective…
Sif exhales a breath. "I'm sorry...All-Father," she speaks. "You were right. Forgive me. Forgive my folly."
…
...
"YOU ARE FORGIVEN!" the booming voice echoes.
Sif's brow crinkles in confusion. "All-Father?" she queries but instead of an answer her spirit is yanked away, back to Midgard, back to that dwelling, back into Lily Potter's body...which shifts and changes until it takes on Sif's proper form, dressed in her Asgardian armour.
Sif, the Goddess of War is reborn.
Green eyes, shaded behind strands of dark hair blink. There is no sudden gasp of breath, no noise. Sif is too good a warrior to make such a simple mistake. She rises as silently as a ghost and turns just as the wizard raises his wand toward her son.
In an instant, an old friend is pulled from its sheath as she plunges her sword into the back of the Dark Lord Voldemort. "You dare," she hisses in his ear in pure fury. "You dare think to harm my son, little wizard. Now I will show you real magic and power," she vows.
Her sword glows with raw power. Voldemort doesn't even have time to register anything before his body is blown apart into nothing, leaving behind only his robes and his wand.
Sif holsters her weapon and breathes once again, only for a piercing cry to grab her attention. She moves swiftly over to the crib and picks the bairn up...and her eyes narrow at seeing this strange lightning bolt shaped scar, angry and red, that has appeared on his right temple. Did she do that? When she destroyed the little wizard was there a backlash that struck her son? Guilt wells up within. "Shh, shh, little one. I'm here. None shall harm you," she says in soothing tones as she hugs her son close.
"Mumma?" the sniffling boy half-queries.
"Yes, yes. Your mummy's here, Harry," Sif tells him, rubbing his back and kissing his forehead, soothing his cries slowly.
"Da?" he suddenly queries.
Sif's green eyes go wide. "James," she whispers as she runs out the room, down the stairs and finds his body lying. He's quite, quite dead.
Unbidden tears well up in Sif's eyes. She loved him. She did. As infuriating as he could be. As childish as he could be. He had a good heart. "I'm sorry, James. I'm..." she trails off. She has never had to deal with...heartbreak like this. Another lesson a part of her mind points out.
Sif looks at her son.
"Da!" he shouts.
Sif holds him to her bosom tight. He's too young to understand. What does she do now? She can't stay here. Her mortal life is over and she won't leave her son here as an orphan. There's only one choice to make really. She calls out to her brother. "Heimdall! I know you can see me! Heimdall! Open the Bifrost!"
And in a stream of multicoloured light she and Harry vanish…
Author's Note: Just a little idea I had. Possibly the start of a story if one was so inclined.